These Great Mysteries
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: Live Journal Kink-Meme Fill #8.
1. Chapter 1

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_When you go_

_Would you have the guts to say_

_I don't love you like I loved you yesterday…_

_—My Chemical Romance—_

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**Chapter 1; Scars**

It started innocently enough, though it didn't end that way.

It had rained, as it did every winter, and the cold had iced over the wet. And Altair always was the kind not to look before he leapt, especially when he was excited.

As he was running down the path between the main fortress and the courtyard where Malik was approaching, having only just returned from one long term errand or another, the specifics weren't really important at the moment, when the young master's foot had just politely shot out from under him on one such icy patch.

Down he went in an awesomely awkward sprawl on the stones.

A laugh exploded from Malik's throat and he jogged, much more carefully to where Altair was spread out and bent, breath puffing silver out in the air before him as he continued to chuckle… That is until he realized Altair had actually hurt himself when he'd fallen.

A quick prodding by one healer or another and Altair was hunched miserably shuffling along with his arm trussed up in a sling, his shoulder bruised and swollen but firmly back in its socket.

"Of all the things to hurt you, it had to be falling on the ice." Malik chuckled and guided the younger man to his room, helping him out of his belts shirts and robes.

Altair, though, was less than amused about his injury and grumbled the whole time. "Make yourself useful and find something I can rub on these bruises so I don't ache like an old man in the morning."

Malik laughed again but did as he was told, going to the small chest in the corner and fishing around for a jar or a pot of something. "Do you want liniment or something numbing—" He'd turned to look over his shoulder and noticed Altair had finished removing his clothes and was rubbing a painful looking black and blue spot on his behind and upper thigh.

He'd never seen Altair completely nude before, had never really physically sought out to do so, imagination and desire notwithstanding, but he'd always assumed he and the other man were built similar enough that there was no mystery…

He'd been wrong.

There was a scar, a thick jagged thing slanting across Altair's lower abdomen and hip. His right thigh was similarly marked, as well as a small portion of his left, just above and to the inside of his knee. It varied in color through its length from pale silver and pink, to a few darker almost brown gray places where he recognized signs of past, serious infection.

Malik couldn't help but stare in horror at what he was obviously not supposed to see. That had been an ugly wound that would have killed most men… When had it happened and why had he not heard anything of it before that moment!

Altair blinked at him noticing he'd been caught, then down at himself and snatched his trousers back up, fisting them closed, hiding the scaring. He looked away and seemed to give a shiver, wetting his lips before he spoke. "Something that dulls pain…"

Malik swallowed thickly, nodded and turned back to the chest. His hand shook as he looked through the packets, jars and little pots, but couldn't focus on them well enough to find it, so he just plucked up the nearest pot to his hand, a pale ointment he'd seen Altair rub on blisters and scrapes that formed on his hands.

He approached slowly and eased into a sitting position behind Altair, where he'd placed himself on the edge of the bed, his hand rigid on his knee, head bowed.

The younger man was tense, the bruised muscles on his back bunched.

Malik gnawed his lip for a moment then laid his hand on Altair's back. "What happened?"

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder; "I was very young, I don't remember much of it."

"Did someone—"

He released a single, sad sounding laugh and shook his head; "No." Then with a low sigh; "It was a dog…"

Malik winced, imagining some horrid beast of a thing, larger than any dog he'd ever seen with teeth as big as his arm and wild pulsing red eyes. A monster of a hell hound was the only thing that could have done this.

"I'd been climbing a tree near here and a hungry mutt of a thing came along and must have smelled what I had in my belt." He cleared his throat; "I've been told some older boys heard my screaming and came running. They killed it and pulled me to safety… The surgeons didn't think I would survive— It really does look worse than it is, it doesn't even hurt." He flapped a hand nonchalantly, as if dismissing it, redirecting the conversation perhaps.

"No?" He was a little relieved that it didn't cause him pain, but there was something dark in his eyes that worried Malik.

"No, it's all very numb."

"Do women not mind it?"

He wrinkled his nose and turned peering curiously over his shoulder, back hunched defensively. "Why would a woman wish to see it? I don't even like to see it."

Malik snorted; "Aren't they curious as to where you gained such a scar, or do you just take your pleasure and leave."

Altair turned away from him; "I-I don't do that."

"Oh, yes, how could I forget. You're still in mourning—"

"Malik… I-I _can't…_ do that."

Malik stiffened in surprise.

"I'm mostly numb there… I-it doesn't… Not well enough to be of any use." He shrugged from under the older man's grip and drew back the quilts on his bed, rolling under them to put some kind of barrier between himself and the older man. "I won't have you repeating this, understand?" He glared hatefully. "The surgeons who treated me are long gone by now, and the only other people who knew the extent of it were my parents and HIM, and I've made it a point not to let anybody else know what happened. If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone I'll—"

Malik lifted his hand, trying to placate the young master. "I won't speak a word of it to anyone, but—"

"I don't want to speak of it any more… I just want to sleep and hope I'm not too sore to function tomorrow." Altair thumped his head down on the pillow and stared silently at the far wall with a somehow empty expression on his face.

It was quiet for a long while, Malik just sitting there staring at him, and then, fed up with the silence, he cleared his throat.

"Surely there is some chance… have you—Have you any sensation?"

Altair's teeth came together and he curled inward on himself like an animal readying itself to spring; "If I weren't so sore I would beat you into silence."

Malik's brows scrunched in anger; "You could try."

"Don't tempt me… You're of more use to me alive. Go away."

"I am not attacking you… I am merely curious."

He tugged the blankets up to his chin; "You're irritating me. Go _away."_

"You have to have some feeling or else you'd be incontinent. I've seen men with injuries like this and they lose all control of their water and sometimes their bowels. Since you're not wet—"

Altair shoved back the blankets and sat up glaring hatefully at Malik. "I have lived more than fifteen years like this, don't you think I've tried everything! I've done anything I could think of that might help—And yes, SHE saw it and SHE tried because she pitied me and NOTHING happened! Do you know how humiliating it was? Lying there letting her do that and I couldn't even—" He pounded his fist against the covers as if he were stabbing something his eyes distant and glassy; "You may be half a man, but if you find a woman who'll have you at least you can still function! I am _ruined,_ do you understand that!"

Malik bristled, fist clenching and he came within a hair's breadth of punching Altair in the face. His jaws popped and he gave the younger man a dangerous look.

The young Master visibly shrank in on himself all the color draining from his face; "I… Malik, I'm sorry." He lowered his eyes and stared in shock at his hand. "I j-just don't… I'm sorry."

Malik glared at him for a long while, trying to control the impulses he had to beat Altair to a pulp. The younger man's wounded shoulder wouldn't allow him to use that arm and he wasn't as good with his right. It would be easy… But he could understand the outburst in a strange bitter way, sometimes you just became so angry at yourself and your situation you would say anything, even something hurtful you didn't mean, just so you would be left alone. He'd done the same thing himself a few times...

So, instead of lashing out with his fist and harsh language, he took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss.

"You have never been aroused before?"

Altair sighed, realizing he wasn't going to be able to get Malik to simply drop the subject, so he decided the best course of action would be to just answer his questions and hope his damnable curiosity was sated; "Never physically… I've seen people and desired intimacy, but I've never… Never where it matters."

"And I'm assuming you've never—never experienced r-release."

He shook his head.

"But you can control your water and bowels… were you damaged internally?"

"If I had been I would be dead."

Malik nodded and rubbed at his mouth while he thought. It had become a mission somehow, he wasn't sure why or when. He was rather satisfied with the rumors floating around that Altair was still in mourning and would never marry or take a lover… it made the man seem more respectful, and young Doves and Novices thought it was terribly romantic that he would deny himself for the memory of his first love.

But, another part of Malik felt for the other man… He knew what it was like to feel ruined and damned to an eternity of loneliness because of something you couldn't control.

"Altair?"

He lifted his head slowly, eyes wary but didn't say anything.

"Do you trust me?"

He glanced around suspiciously; "Right now, or in general."

"If you trust me, I might be able to help…"

Altair was quiet for a long few minutes, then with a sigh, he nodded.

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2; Patience**

"May I examine you?"

Altair flinched, but after a second of just staring at Malik distrustfully. He hadn't let anyone touch him in years, it was a forbidden, ugly crippled place he wanted sometimes to simply separate himself from. He felt emasculated, and found himself hyper aware of the relationships other men had. Made him hate with such deep fiery force those men who he had seen using that part of their bodies as a weapon, as a thing of violence. And it was sickening at times, lying there in the dark and quiet, his mind simply obsessing on the desire to find comfort in the arms of another, while his body remained unmoved, lifeless, dead seeming. He had nightmares about it often, that part of himself that had felt alien and unnatural for years simply disappearing letting himself revel in the illusion that he wasn't broken if there was nothing there to break.

He didn't want anyone else to know about this, hadn't thought Malik would turn so soon and see him inspecting those bruises on his hip that made his leg feel weak. But the older man always did have the absolute worst timing when it came to certain things. Barging in when Altair was thinking or trying to sleep. Coming up behind him only to bark something derisive while Altair was hiding watching with wide childlike eyes as the Doves flitted around in the garden at dust wearing very little. Disturbing him when he was trying to have a few moments peace after meals.

Why had he been surprised that Malik had turned his head and seen something he wasn't ever supposed to know about?

He sighed deeply, defeated, and nodded again. He hesitated another moment, waring with himself, then rolled the blankets toward his knees. His hand shook as he laid back and pushed his pants down, head turning to the side, away from the other man as if pretending he wasn't there. It would be easier that way, just to pretend he wasn't there.

He had some sensation down there, knew when he was being touched and when he wasn't, but it was more that he was aware of the pressure, not that he felt it.

It was slightly embarrassing, letting Malik touch him. Tracing the length of his scars, prodding, pinching and stroking, trying to invoke some kind of response.

"Altair?"

He swallowed past a dry nauseous, violated feeling in his throat; "What."

"I… I would like to try something that isn't— There is a certain part of a man's body that is very sensitive to pleasure. Would you let me…"

"I've already agreed to let you examine me… I am open to whatever ideas you have." He didn't bother explaining that the mental arousal he went through on a daily basis was killing him. He had absolutely no relief from it, he had felt broken and less than human for years, pouring himself into missions and training as a distraction, as a way to forget. And if there was even a hint of a chance that Malik knew a way to help him he would do whatever he said gladly…

"Part your legs for me…"

—Except that.

Altair glared at him; "I am not a woman—"

"I'm not implying that you are… There is a place, in there that is very—"

"Malik—"

"If you don't want me to do it, you can do it yourself… I know what it is like and I can—"

"You _know?_ You've done this?"

"Yes."

Altair stared at him for a while the gears in his mind turning at rapid speed, then covered his face with his arm and slowly brought his knees up.

"Do you want me to explain what I'm doing, or ju—"

"No. I don't want to know." There was a fine line between humiliation and fear. Fear that this crushed everything he'd worked so hard to reclaim, his dignity and the thin veneer he wore to convince everyone there was nothing wrong. That he was whole and therefore capable. Fear that someone would find out and he would be treated once more as something less than real, a shell, something no better than a crippled animal. And humiliation that Malik now knew, saw, and was touching him. A man who claimed to have forgiven him, but still sometimes would harden his gaze and put up some kind of wall, making the warmth and trust Altair craved, completely inaccessible.

He didn't know how to cope with this, and part of him, some dark hopeless part said that if Malik exposed him, if this was all just a ruse to find something to use against him, to use to break the last remaining shards of his spirit that Altair would not be able to recover from it. He might just fold himself over his blade to escape the pain.

He closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth against it.

Malik took up that little pot of ointment, shifting to kneel at the younger man's feet. He watched, waiting, and after a while of nothing happening Altair peeked out from under his arm, and with a defeated sigh, let his knees drop toward the edges of the bed.

Malik contemplated warning him what was to come, but shook his head. He sat the little pot aside, making a nest for it in a twist of the quilts and delved three fingers in.

Altair watched him through one slit lid, following every move, and willed his body not to flinch when those sticky fingers worked their way into the cleft of his body, "How is this going to help if I want to be intimate with a woman?"

Malik wetted his lips, eyes still focused on where his fingers were carefully rubbing the salve around the younger man's tense entrance. "I—I know of a man who fashions _tools_. Some of the Doves do business with him. He should be able to think of something to help, so that when the day comes you'll be able to please whoever you're with and be pleased yourself."

Altair's brows twitched curiously. "He could do that? M-make something that is-is functional?"

Malik blushed. "Some of the Doves do business with him as I said, and I-I've become familiar with his work… And depending on the material, it can be very—very lifelike." He swallowed; "Take a breath for me."

Altair gulped in apprehension but nodded and took a slow, deep breath, watching as Malik's wrist flexed between his legs.

It wasn't a very pleasant feeling, a push, a sting and the sensation of having something inside him that probably shouldn't be there.

"Once more."

Another breath and a second finger pushed in alongside the first. Altair flinched and his body tightened in discomfort. "This doesn't feel right."

"I've not started yet, just relax. If it hurts, let me know." Malik shifted, trying to hide the growing thickness in his own pants, this wasn't supposed to be about sex… Not really… Maybe a little—But this was for Altair, not himself. He could steal away to his own quarters later and take care of his problem to the memory of this and Altair would never know. They could continue on as if nothing had changed.

He schooled his face into a calm clinical expression and worked his fingers in and out a few times to loosen the other man up enough that there would be less discomfort should a third finger be necessary. He crooked his fingers upward searchingly, pressing lightly back and forth, trying to ignore the increasingly uncomfortable expression growing on Altair's face.

Altair's muscles twitched when he found it, his inner walls and opening going impossibly tight for a fraction of a second, then relaxing again.

"How does this feel?" Malik pushed up against the spot working his fingers in tight little circles.

Altair looked confused, his eyes distant, mouth compressed, but the longer Malik's fingers were applying pressure, the wider the younger man's pupils seemed to become. He didn't say a word, but the second his breathing started to become labored Malik knew.

"Relax… Just enjoy it."

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	3. Chapter 3

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**Chapter 3; Dreams**

Altair watched him his jaw tight, teeth clamped together, trying to fight back every noise his body seemed to want to create. He was completely and utterly shocked at what he was feeling. It was something he'd never even thought was possible. Heat growing low in his belly, a tension that carried through his lower back, and every time Malik's fingers moved there was pleasure.

It wasn't all encompassing, and was taking a long time to build, but that just made it better. It felt good. The internal pressure similar to the feeling he had when he needed to relieve himself, but at the same time, not.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself while Malik's hand was working down there, should he offer to help? Should he just lay there? Should he try to keep his hand from tangling in the blankets? Should he give in to the urge to roll his hips along with the stimulation? It was so frustrating not knowing how to conduct himself, so he just kept terribly still.

He'd been young at the time of his injury, and those healers and teachers who usually dealt with explaining the how and why of intimate mechanics, had all known and decided to avoid that subject with him at all costs, it wasn't right to explain things to him that he wouldn't be able to partake in, it would only make the pain worse… They hadn't realized that by denying him they'd left him feeling less than human, broken, crippled.

"Malik?" His voice came out in a whine.

He hummed quietly and lifted his eyes.

"I-is it wrong that I—" he shuddered, pulling his lower lip between his teeth and latching onto it to stifle himself, he breathed quickly through flared nostrils for a few moments before he could continue; "I w-want to—"

"Do what feels right."

He nodded, and with a choked moan his hips started a jerky, uncertain rhythm, eyes glassy and heavily lidded, still watching the older man for any indication that what he was doing was wrong… But instead of disdain as he was expecting he noticed an instantaneous change in Malik's expression.

His eyebrows twitched and crooked upward in surprise, his mouth becoming more and more tense, his nostrils flaring, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, and Altair could feel him rocking gently.

He wasn't sure why he spoke, why he felt such deep certainty when he did, but the words came out and he didn't regret them at all; "Show me."

Malik blinked; "What?"

It was difficult to move, and doing so made his body shift and tighten around the older man's fingers, but carefully, he moved his right leg and found Malik's lap with his foot.

Malik's hips rolled purposefully forward against Altair's instep and his eyes fluttered shut, fingers digging up mercilessly within the younger man. He shook his head, sweat dripping into his eyes; "This isn't about me—" His stomach tightened, ideas flashing through his head. Hooking Altair's legs over his shoulders and sinking himself deep into that constrictive, soft, hot, rippling—

He'd dreamed of that, and the reality of his fingers deeply embedded in Altair, the sound of the other man's pleasure, was so different than he'd imagined.

He hadn't expected any of this. He'd expected Altair to be built just as he was, maybe a little bigger since Altair was taller… The scaring, the lack of function, had been such a jarring shock. A solid tumbling blow to everything he'd imagined. The secret fantasies he had about sharing himself with Altair were close to shattering.

In his head he'd pictured, perhaps a fight, sparing and the clash of highly trained steel, laughing like they had as teens, playful shoves and insults. There would be no animosity, no reservation or mournful glances at his empty sleeve. There would just be two men… A pause, smiling, and they would simply look at one another—Then there would be a kiss, a touch, and Malik would lay back and guide Altair into himself. It would be slow, careful at first, then fast and powerful and he would end hard, harder than he ever had at the hands of the Doves, or alone… There would be unimaginable fulfillment and Altair would lay his head down on the pillow beside him.

It would happen a few times after that, hidden encounters, secret glances shared across crowded rooms where any slip would have them found out. And then one day Altair would pull him aside into his bed, press soft kisses to his lips and open himself.

Malik had envisioned such perfection, believing it impossible… he hadn't expected that what he'd wanted for years would be laid out in front of him, as different as it was.

Altair's foot found a rhythm against that firm length in Malik's trousers. He appeared to be using his toes to feel it, his expression curious, but at the same time somehow sad. His uninjured hand had crept across his thigh and he seemed to be gingerly exploring himself, fingers lightly brushing against the unresponsive flesh between his legs.

Malik sighed, fingers still rubbing quick small circles and figure eights over the younger man's prostate. "I can't show you unless I stop _this—"_ He pressed upward firmly, breath hitching when Altair's whole body flowed with the motion and his foot jerked in surprise, a soft whine easing out between his lips. "Do you really want me to stop?"

There was no hesitation, he shook his head in the negative, lip going between his teeth, but his foot was moving again, those long toes of his more agile than Malik had expected, pinching and rubbing and pulling at the lacings of his pants.

"A-Altair, what are you doing?"

"I want to _s-see_ it…" he gnawed his lip, expression troubled as he tried to force himself to focus on loosening the laces so he could get to what he knew by instinct was down there.

It was a sheer stroke of luck that he managed to pull the laces enough with his toes. Even more so that Malik was able to raise himself to his knees and the fabric fell.

Malik was surprised he wasn't shy about exposing himself like this. Any other time he would be. The odd occasions he was with the Doves he insisted there be no light and that he be allowed to keep on as much clothing as possible.

There had been times, even before the loss of his arm that he had looked at himself and felt nothing but hate for what he saw. There was really no explanation for it, or reason it seemed. He was a man. Slim and well muscled where it counted, though some of it had faded with his 'promotion', leaving him more slender, not as firm around his middle, and some of those calluses he'd spent years building had thinned on his hand. But this was the one part of his physical body that had not changed. Flushed and ready, the tip of his manhood damp from his arousal.

Altair stared at him with his lips parted, and it occurred to Malik then that it was possible Altair had never seen the erect state of a man's flesh. And what happened next only confirmed that—

Altair giggled.

Malik felt momentarily insulted; "What are you laughing about, you wanted to see it—"

Those golden eyes flicked up to his, dilated and shining; "I-I just had a vision in my head of that annoying black cockerel in the stable that likes to chase me with its neck all stiff and frilled out… I-I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"You think it looks like an angry chicken?"

His hand lifted and covered his face, giggling stupidly into his palm.

"Well, I'm glad this amuses you…" He scowled and pressed upward harshly, drawing a trembling whine from the younger man, watching in a satisfied kind of way as that hand slid up to grip at the pillow above his head, and his brows lifted slightly, lower lip gone between his sharp teeth.

"I—" he swallowed thickly, hips rolling purposefully now, "I like it though… _hng_—W-what does it feel like?"

And Malik found himself in a losing battle with his desire; "It feels very full, and heavy… It wants relief."

Altair's fingers were flexing open and closed and his eyes opened to slits.

When he spoke his voice was just a hiss of a thing, a soft barely there sound, and if Malik hadn't seen those words formed on his lips he never would have believed he'd actually heard it.

"May I touch it?'

"Yes… Oh, please yes." He ground his teeth, a little humiliated at how desperate it sounded coming out of his mouth. A whine of need long denied.

Altair's hand moved slowly, reaching past Malik's flexing wrist, fingers outstretched, eyes curious.

Malik shifted his hips forward fractionally, watching, his mind roaring that this was real, Altair was going to touch him, and even if it was a fleeting, clinical prodding, he would remember it. Would be able to honestly say to himself that he had touched Altair and been touched by him as well… it had been a long time since he'd let anyone but himself explore that area. The Doves knew better than to attempt such intimacy. They were not to touch him or kiss him, not to speak, not to offer anything other than what he asked of them, and merely come to him in the dark, bodies adorned with their tools, one hand braced on the small of his back the other slick, working him expertly open before sinking one of those carved wooden shafts into him…

God, just thinking about it, the inhumanity of their intrusion, the coldness, made him sick to his stomach… But sometimes, the need simply became too much to ignore, his own fingers and that wooden _thing_ he'd commissioned were just not enough. There was something different about a person, even a person wearing something like that, pushing into you… He craved it, just as he craved now to sheathe himself in Altair's body. To be the first to give this man pleasure, the one he would remember. Especially if this would only be a one time affair—Malik wanted him to remember who it was that made him feel this way the first time. Wanted to claim this man's beautiful body as his own… just this once…

Altair's fingers were cool, and hesitant, tracing the flared head of his arousal. Feather light touches against each vein and ridge. Even these timid, inexperienced fumblings given freely by a man who had been denied the very basest knowledge of human sexuality, made Malik want to bow his head and weep of how wonderful it felt.

"It's very hot… Does it hurt?"

"I-it aches," he swallowed thickly, feeling completely out of breath.

"Aches because of the stiffness? Would a liniment help?"

"No, that would hurt… I mistook liniment once for a lubricant, they could hear me howling in the garden." He swallowed again, his throat so dry.

"Is it like a muscle spasm?" And his fingers curled around it, rubbing gently, questioningly—

"N-not a spasm n-no…" Malik ground his teeth against noises that rose unbidden in his throat, rocking roughly into Altair's searching fingers. "T-tighten your grip slowly… please." He tilted his head back, trying to keep himself balanced, but his wrist was starting to hurt and he could no longer feel his fingers. He didn't know if he was still rubbing the right spot or not. The motion was unnatural at this angle and it was hard to maintain.

"How do you do this t-to yourself, as well as that?"

"I have a tool—"

"Like the Doves?"

"Yes… I-if I position it perhaps o-on a chair…" he hummed rocking sharply forward and almost unbalancing.

"It is r-realistic?"

"Very."

Altair's feet shifted, stance widening, thighs trembling from the strain. "Have you ever let a man do that to you?"

"Once… I-I was young."

"Did it hurt?"

He nodded, eyes closed, imagining it; "At first, then it was quite pleasurable… I was sore afterward, but it was worth it."

"W-what does it feel like?"

And it was then that Malik realized he'd lost that battle quite some time ago, and even if he'd wanted to there would be no stopping now unless Altair outright demanded that it end.

He swallowed and his head rocked forward on his neck, eyes dark, sweat standing out in large beads on his brow. He wetted his lips and let his breath out in a shuddering sigh; "I'll show you."

Those fingers within him shifted, spreading apart and he felt a sting, a sharp burn but the mental arousal he felt twisted the discomfort and his head dug back into the pillow, throat stretched and pale on a whine, hips rolling, following the pace if the older man's ministrations, stretching for a few moments, fingers widening further every time, followed by an intense few seconds of direct hard pressure against that place he couldn't name inside him, followed by Malik working his fingers in and out, easing in a third.

"C-can you reach that salve?" Malik's voice held a note of desperation, and Altair had a little difficulty turning his head, everything but his legs and that point where he and Malik seemed to mesh was terribly limp, and every time he shifted his body moved and tightened along with it.

He caught the little pot, shoving two fingers in it to pick it up, and dragged it over the blankets to his hip, panting for his breath.

"P-put your fingers here." Malik's digits thrust upward and his eyes seemed to burn like black coals in his face.

Altair wanted to nod, wanted to acknowledge that he'd heard, but couldn't so much as swallow to draw moisture to his mouth again. His hand shook as it shifted past the unresponsive flesh between his legs to the cleft of his body, touching the heated, sensitive ring of his opening.

Malik's fingers slid out and he cupped the back of the younger man's hand, fitting his index and middle digits against the backs of Altairs as a brace and pushing inward.

He was so startled by how easily his body gave to the intrusion that Altair's hips arched off the sheets. He was hot inside, hot and moist and soft and damnably sensitive, and every twitch or shift or move his body made was reflected there. This place he'd encountered every day had gained a new purpose. It became centralized and tied into every nerve in his body and every single one of them screamed out in pleasure.

Even the pain from his injured shoulder seemed insignificant at the moment.

Malik's hand disappeared for half a breath, but Altair didn't truly miss it until he heard the older man shifting, shrugging out of his coat, breath heaving, pushing his trousers down to his knees and palming himself. He made a low strangled noise, head tilted back, and Altair, at that moment, didn't see Malik as the cranky, secretive, withdrawn man he was used to. He saw a side of Malik that he'd never known existed. A primal, beautiful creature with dark eyes and passion pumping through his very veins…

His heart thudded in his chest and Altair felt the first stirrings of apprehension.

He had no idea what he was doing, or what Malik was about to do to him, only fundamentally what it involved. He'd heard stories about this mystery called 'release' this mythological place of euphoria, but he had no experience, nothing to gage it against. No scale with which to measure what might be about to happen.

He was slightly giddy with the mere concept that he might be even partially functional down there. That maybe, with these secretive 'tools' Malik spoke of, he may be able to give pleasure to another, might be able to reclaim what that monster of a dog had stolen from him all those years ago, and what he had been deprived basic knowledge of by those around him.

He dare not ask what Malik was about to do, the older man hadn't deceived him so far, hadn't hurt him yet… he just watched with a shivering, bubbling feeling in his stomach, as Malik scraped more of the ointment from the pot and began rubbing it thoroughly over himself.

Malik shifted forward, hand sliding up the inside of the younger man's left thigh cupping the back of his knee and pressing upward. The visible wedge of his chest seemed to glisten with sweat in the sparse light, and his eyes were so dark, so intent.

He couldn't help but flinch when he felt the blunt tip of Malik's manhood brush the back of his knuckles. It was very real, and visceral, and without being told he swallowed back the dryness in his mouth and slipped his fingers free, gently cradling the other's length in a trembling palm, guiding it. His belly felt tight and tingly, his eyes wide, mind roaring that this was it, this was really happening, this amazing, wonderful, frightening thing was happening, and it was so curious how the crown of Malik's length fit perfectly against his opening, slick and hot and so alien feeling—

Malik's hips rocked firmly forward, and Altair cried out at the suddenness of it, feeling that ridged head push steadily into him, the seemingly impossible stretch, the hard quick burn of being breached and the solid give of his body around it.

The base of his mind tingled and sang that this was a magical feat of nature, and he went terribly tense, a hot drill of pain rocketing up his spine.

Malik's breath left in a whoosh and his eyes closed tightly mouth opening against the inside of Altair's knee in what at first appeared to be agony, but melted slowly into something that bordered on awe.

And for a seemingly long moment they stayed like that, one halfway embedded in the other, gasping for breath, hearts hammering, bodies visibly shaking.

Altair's uninjured hand groped upward and latched onto Malik's shirtfront, his breath coming out in quiet little whimpers, all cut too short as he inhaled.

Malik panted, brows lifted slightly in an expression that was somewhere between relief and sadness. And when he spoke there was no sound behind the words, just the hiss of his breath shaped like them; "Relax. I won't move until you relax. I swear it."

He didn't think he could, to be honest. Part of his body said he was in indescribable pain while another said that he was so very close to something, some sort of crisis like when a fever broke, and a completely different part said he was tired, he was tired and Malik was inside of him and it felt wonderful… Felt natural and he was so happy it had finally happened.

He was able to relax a few moments later, simply because his muscles were unable to remain so tense, and when he did the burn began to quickly ease, leaving him with a solid feeling of fullness, only intensified when Malik took a deep breath and nudged himself slowly deeper, inch by inch until his hips met the backs of Altair's thighs and the younger man was practically in his lap.

Altair's eyes fell closed, overwhelmed by the feeling of Malik, his friend and the man whose life he'd once ruined, embedded so intimately within him. His heel hooked on the back of the older man's neck and that single hand found purchase on the sheet beside his head.

His fingers lifted, scraping over the older man's shoulder to tangle in Malik's hair and he drew the other man down, nudging his cheek gently with the tip of his nose before he brushed their mouths inexpertly together. A rather awkward bump of a kiss, but it deepened, smoothed, and Altair moaned into it, fingers tightening like claws as Malik's hips pulled slowly back—

_"AH!"_

—and plunged sharply forward.

He could feel everything, pushing so deep he could feel it in his chest, every breath and heartbeat and shift of hips culminated into a single hot point in his head and once or twice he worried he was dieing.

His head tilted back, neck exposed to Malik's lips and teeth and tongue, brows furrowed as he tried desperately to classify every sensation as it shot through him so he could understand it, hold it close like priceless treasure in case this never happened again, or was as he feared, all just a dream.

The rasp of Malik's chest hair against his nipples, the flex of muscles against his stomach, the little upward SNAP of hips at the end of every thrust, the impossible pressure against that place inside him—

There was no describing it, no classifying it, everything was too sharp, too deep, too intense…

His hand slid from the back of Malik's neck to the back of his scarred shoulder, nails curled and digging into the flesh in his desperation to ground himself to separate his mind and body so he could feel everything instead of being drowned by it.

And Malik was lost to it all, the heat, the squeeze at every breath and thump of Altair's heart. The vibration of his whines as they seemed to carry right through his body. The lost, hopelessly overwhelmed look on Altair's face. He felt himself whispering encouragingly, rolling his hips using his knees to gain more leverage, more power behind his thrusts, more friction.

Gentle… he kept telling himself, chanting it. This was Altair's first in too many things, he had to be gentle. He had to make it good, his own pleasure could wait, could be ignored all together if it came to it. He wanted to memorize this, every shift of the expression on Altair's face, the flush of his cheeks, the swollen bruised appearance of his mouth as his teeth abused his bottom lip. The tilt of his eyebrows as he just gave himself over to everything…

He wanted to make sure Altair never forgot this, wanted to give the other man the deepest climax he would ever experience and he would work toward it for as long as it took, as long as Altair let him.

He kissed and sucked and nipped every inch of flesh he could reach that would be covered by clothing when this was over. He left a big dark mark over the young master's heart and compulsively latched onto the nipple nearest his mouth.

It was like he'd stabbed Altair, how abruptly he arched into it, head flopped back on his neck like a bead on a piece of knotted string. Mouth open and gasping, incapable of speech or noises other than his fight for breath and wordless mewls.

Even the bloody crescents Altair's nails cut into the back of his shoulder were insignificant compared to this.

Everything he'd dreamed and wanted for years now was coming true, and although this may never happen again Malik tried to push his own fulfillment aside, he wanted to give Altair everything he knew how in hopes the pleasure may be good enough that Altair would come back for more, because Altair didn't know how overwhelming it felt that he was so deeply joined with the man he l—

He bowed his head and whispered the word in his mind, a word he'd never allowed himself to even think, but there was no denying it any more, and even if it hurt that Altair may never return the sentiment, at least for this moment, he could pretend he did.

He'd become quite good at pretending…

Each thrust and roll of his hips felt like it would be the one to end him, the one to snuff out his life. A bit more of his heart tightened and seemed to melt or shatter like ice dropping from a high window ledge. His body was so fixed with need, his mind had gone blank but for the knowledge that he would not last much longer and he would surely come apart all together when he ended and make a complete fool of himself, like some inexperienced boy on his first lay. The bare and heartrending clarity that he was making love to Altair, the person he'd longed for, was enough to set him so close to his edge it was painful to keep going, knowing he would not be able to let himself climax so soon, he couldn't. Not yet. He wanted to make Altair's pleasure last as long as he possibly could. It was a mission he simply refused to fail.

But moments later as he continued to fight frantically with himself for control he became aware that there was something wrong, he could feel it in the tension growing in Altair's shoulders, the quickness of his breath and the bite of rigid fingers into his back. And as quickly as he realized something was different, he recognized what it was.

"M-Malik?" He called out softly, his tone wary eyes almost fearful in the way they honed in on his face and refused to move.

He was surprised that the abrupt stab of delight through his chest was not because he would be able to let himself go soon, but was joy for Altair and the knowledge he was indeed capable of meeting such an end. He was so glad that this, all his hope and effort would not be in vain for the other man. He was happy, so intensely happy that Altair had this, that he had been able to give the younger man back some of his dignity, that he could offer something in hopes that maybe, just maybe Altair would feel a piece of himself returned, and Malik felt a little satisfactorily selfish thinking that he would feel more whole himself knowing he was the one to give Altair his first pleasure, that he was the very first one Altair had allowed to touch him so intimately.

He pressed his forehead to the creases in Altair's brow, and locked eyes with him, making those unsure, dilated gold orbs un-focus, tasting the sound of each whine and whimper with softly grinning lips. "Hold on." Was all he said, in the palest of whispers, and lifted himself up again, hand cupping the back of the younger man's knee and pressing upward, allowing himself to tunnel in deeper, spreading his legs a little more to widen his stance and allow more room to angle his hips, thrusting upward firmly, eyes locked on that confused almost panicked expression painted across Altair's flushed face.

With every motion, every heartbeat Malik counted seconds in his head, the pinched, uncertain look in Altair's eyes became more and more focused, until finally understanding flashed brilliantly like sunlight across his face and his mouth dropped open—

His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering closed, brows shooting upward, breath escaping on a mewl, and suddenly there was an expression of such significant relief on his face, even if he looked a little pained, the pleasure and gratitude evident while Malik continued rocking through it, angling himself up to prolong it as much as he could, watching everything flow across the younger man's face like waves crashing on an ocean wall.

Malik's breath came in a gasp and he just stared, awestruck, hips stuttering out a faltering cadence as the other's body shuddered and rippled rhythmically around him. The feeling was intense, soft, hot and somehow contradictive in the way it seemed delicate while at the same time violent enough to leave a grown man weak and helpless against it.

It was tragically beautiful to watch, the completely indescribable relief in the younger man's expression brought hot stinging tears to Malik's eyes and he bowed his face in to Altair's embrace, too overwhelmed to watch any longer and with a whine buried himself deep as his own pleasure tore through him.

They lay together for a few seconds afterward, Malik just feeling the other man trembling, his breath like a storm gale rushing in and out of his chest, hand petting at Malik's back and head— and then, abruptly, Altair stiffened.

"Oh no… M-Malik?" he swallowed, his voice high and quiet, shuddered out on a self conscious, humiliated hiss; "I think I'm… I'm _wet."_

Malik raised his head and slowly levered himself up a little, peering curiously between their bodies.

He expected, simply from Altair's tone that the man had lost control of his water during release, and considering the implied extent of his old injury Malik would not have been angry or disgusted. It was a miracle in and of itself that he'd been able to coax the younger man to orgasm, so something like losing control in such a moment Malik wouldn't look down upon.

But surprise snatched the worried tolerance clean off his face when he saw the sticky white mess between them, staining his shirt.

There was quite a lot of it and he almost started laughing. Taking a moment to just admire it before he made himself speak and ease the younger man's concern; "Lie still… Breathe out—"

Altair winced as he felt Malik carefully slide free and watched as the older man groped for the wash basin at the side of the bed, cleaning himself quickly before he turned back and pressed the cloth gently to Altair's abused opening.

He felt chafed and sore down there, and the cool dampness of the cloth eased it a little. His anxiety and humiliation though were not eased when Malik continued to just sit there and stare at the puddle on his stomach.

But then Malik's lips quirked up at the corner into a proud little grin and Altair expected suddenly to be teased, fear stabbing through his chest like a dagger that Malik was just going to—

"That's not mine."

Altair blinked stupidly for a second, and slowly raised his head. He blinked at it, not sure at first what he was looking at, still shivering. Then carefully, he lifted his uninjured hand as if he wished to touch it. "I… I thought I'd… what does this mean?"

"It means, at least by my reckoning, that with the right tools, you should conceivably be able to not only please a woman, but also fill her belly."

He looked shocked, hopeful maybe. "Children?"

"Unless you've got bad seed…" Malik looked away, pausing a moment to peel his soiled shirt off and draw his pants back up, giving the laces a sharp tug to tighten them.

"Malik… You, you won't tell anyone?"

"I won't tell a soul…" His breath came out in a tired sigh, but he didn't look up, his throat felt tight and he worried he'd make a fool of himself if he turned, and start crying.

"Thank you…"

He didn't reply.

"Malik?"

Silence.

"Why do you go to them when you want this?"

"What?"

"Why do you go to those women when you wish to— to be on the receiving end of it."

"Because I know they won't breathe a word to anyone but their own kind… And even though they may laugh at me after I'm gone at least they don't do it to my face."

"Why would they laugh?"

"Because it is seen as a weakness, as a sickness… If anyone were to know I could quite literally be stoned to death or worse."

Altair's breath caught; "That's horrible!"

"It's the way things are… I don't expect you to understand, you were never taught."

For a moment he looked insulted, but then he settled again, brows scrunched in concern. "Malik?"

He did turn this time, expression pained.

"You can come to me… I—I'll need tools, like you said, but I won't laugh, I won't tell anyone. I won't allow anyone to harm you for it."

"You don't even enjoy men—"

"I enjoyed this…" His hand came up, tracing the dimple in Malik's elbow.

Malik sighed and closed his eyes tightly; "You only did this because I was too weak not to take advantage—"

"If I hadn't wanted it you wouldn't have gotten near me."

They stared at one another quietly for a few moments.

"If you don't want me you don't have to. I understand." Altair continued to trace the bowl of that little dimple, his expression somehow peaceful despite the fact he'd just spoken words that sent a brief agony stabbing through Malik's chest.

Malik swallowed with some difficulty and before he even realized what he wanted to say, he was speaking; "The problem is that I do want you… But if I come back, if I let this happen again, I don't think I could let a woman take you away from me and I know it will happen… you'll be away and you'll see some pretty face and fall in love and you'll forget this. I'll be alone again—"

He couldn't deny the possibility. He did want a wife and children one day, even more so now that he knew it was possible… But this had changed something, had shone light onto a part of himself he'd never known about. He _had_ enjoyed it… He'd enjoyed that it was _Malik…_

"Please, Malik… I don't want you going back to them if they laugh at you. It's no better than those women in the city who let men beat and spit on them then offer themselves up for more…" His breath hitched. "I-I can't return what you've given me… But you can take what I have."

Malik's mouth opened but no sound came out and after a few seconds he bowed his head and resigned himself to silence. They sat there within it for a long while, the young master's fingers tracing up and down the back of his arm reverently, then Altair shifted his injured shoulder uncomfortably, the corner of his mouth twitching in pain.

Malik's breath came out low, defeated in a calm easy way, and he took a few moments to work his boots off before he sagged against the mattress and just stared at Altair for a while more, lifting his hand to rub gently at the bandages in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

Altair touched him carefully, his fingers deceptively gentle as he traced pale scars and the angles of his chest before his lids sagged, fluttered, and slid shut.

"I'll come to you… Until you tire of me."

His eyes didn't open again, but his scarred lips curled fractionally upward in a pleased way; "Hmmm, I'll never… tire of you… I swear it." He took a deep breath and shifted his head against the pillow, body sagging as he drifted into sleep; "You're too stubborn to be forgotten."

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_(I wrote this while listening to 'I Don't Love You' by My Chemical Romance… And it's **me**, so of course it's a big implied EMO trip… God help us all.)_

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